Heaven in the Streets
by unreliable-'author
Summary: The streets of Lothal had left their imprint on Ezra. Through gangs, addictions, lessons learned, and scars gained, they helped to shape hm into the person he is behind his mask. And the Ghost crew will get to meet that person very soon. (I am not good at summaries, but I hope that if you choose to read you find the story better) Ezra's past fic.


**Heaven in the Streets - A Star Wars Rebels Fanfiction**

 _ **Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to any characters/ places/ etc. written about in this story**_

Chapter 1: Introduction

Living on the streets of Lothal wasn't easy. There were loth-rats, Imperials, drunks, and diseases, and that was in the good part of town. But where the orphans and street-rats lived, well, it was enough to say that it wasn't uncommon to see the Imperials hiding a body of one of the ones who didn't see the next day. Whether it was from hunger, disease, gangs, or crime, death was an everyday things in the good ol' slums of Lothal. Of course, there are still many places in the galaxy that made Lothal, slums and all, look like heaven. Yep, _heaven_.

There were a lucky few who made it out of the streets. Most usually ended up just going to prison, or some children "escaped" to a gruesome and overcrowded foster home with "guardians" who just had them to get some extra credits. And then there are the ones who _really_ made it out. Those who were lucky enough to get an actual _home_ to live in. But you didn't make it out without scars, physical and mental. You couldn't spend a week on the streets without gaining some sort of mark, whether it was a tattoo for a gang or a scar from a knife. Ezra bridger was one of those few who made it out, though he had a shared room on a rebel ship instead of a house. Small details. He still had the scars.

The Ghost crew didn't know this, though. They didn't need to know the true _horrors_ of living on the streets. They could paint up a picture, but it probably wasn't nearly as bad as it was to really live there, to survive the streets. Especially for Ezra. Though it was classified, the news of why the Bridger parents disappeared overnight and their child ended up alone spread quickly. And so, even the other orphans on the street wouldn't give Ezra even a second look, much less help him to survive in the beginning. So he followed his _instincts_ and, somehow, made it a year with nothing too dramatic happening. Except, of course, learning how to defend himself, the art of pickpocketing, and what it felt like to get _cut_ and _shot_ and _starved_. That was learned well before the end of the first month.

The next six years were spent starving, alone, and desperate. And desperation leads to stupidity. Like the first time Ezra joined a gang. They left him bleeding and alone on a street, where they thought he was never to be seen again. They also left him addicted. Not to any substance, at least not _yet,_ but to the absolute thrill of breaking the law. They started his criminal record, one that would grow and grow along with the scars now littering his body. That was the first gang, one Ezra now couldn't even remember the name of. He was there for a few months when he was 8 years old.

He thought he had learned his lesson, thought that he could be alone, until the next gang came along. And the next, and the next, and the next. Then he met a bounty hunter named Bossk, though that's a different story. As he grew so did the street-rat in him. He began getting a little too close to dead, a little too indebt to gangs, and a little too addicted to alcohol. But that was _also_ a different story.

He grew out of his addictions, both to people and things, and was finally free. Well, as free as a loth-rat could be in one giant cage. Then he found the tower. His tower. It was his own little home, far away from the big city. Where he could go back to "clean" his wounds and sleep away the ever-numbing pain. He learned how to steal and to survive, better than most. But with this, he grew distant. His precious few "friends" (more like _allies)_ noticed the change in his attitude. So he made his mask. The mask he still wore as he woke up, groggy and confused, in the small md-bay on the Ghost after something went wrong on their last mission. Shirt off, scars seeming to be glowing against his tan chest,very visible to the other Spectors leaning over him, whispering silently. Until he opened his eyes fully, and all was quiet.

 **Hey guys! Sorry this was kinda short, that's just the usual length of my chapters. I'm working on making them longer. So this is my first SWR fic, and I think I will be writing more chapters for this (those will most likely be dialogue chapters). But if I know myself well, I'll probably will be updating in a few weeks with a long apology. Or two words. I did read over his, but I don't have a beta or anything so I apologize for any spelling/ grammar mistakes I missed! Helpful criticism is always appreciated if you guys want to throw in your opinion through a review. Thanks for reading (if you made it this far) and have a great day/ night!**


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